And Duty Was Lord of All
by Night Hunter MGS
Summary: Written for Memorial Day, a look into the thoughts of Loghain Mac Tir the night before the fateful Landsmeet to see what words like glory, honor, duty, and sacrifice mean to a commander of men. Loghain-centric, compatible with any Warden origin.


**And Duty Was Lord of All**

A Dragon Age: Origins fic by NightHunterMGS

Author's Notes: Here I am again, looking into Memorial Day. Only this time not only am I going to be using my newest obsession, Dragon Age, instead of Full Metal Panic, but rather than looking into the sacrifices of the common soldier and the effect it has on their comrades I'm going to instead look at the thoughts of a commanding officer, a war veteran and their thoughts on such nebulous concepts as "glory" and "heroes". So without further ado, here's the fic.

Disclaimer: The character of Loghain Mac Tir and any other mentioned characters are property of Bioware; mentioned scenes or locations belong to either the videogame Dragon Age: Origins or the books Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne and Dragon Age: The Calling. I own none of these intellectual properties and am making no profit from this work; I am simply writing in appreciation of the Dragon Age series and the hard work of those behind it.

Acknowledgements: I'd like to acknowledge my dear friend Erynnar who came up with the title, based upon the refrain of a song entitled "The English Ladye and the Knight"; she also gave me some very good advice on how to end the story, and so the last paragraph is thanks to her. I'd also like to acknowledge and give my deepest thanks to brownc0at, who consented to serve as my beta and whose dedication to proper grammar transformed this story from a bunch of disjointed sentences into a proper written work; again you have my thanks. And finally but perhaps most importantly, I'd like to acknowledge and thank my fans, who have stuck with me during countless dry spells and story delays; everything I've ever accomplished as a writer is thanks to all of you.

Shout Outs: Following the example of Erynnar, I'm going to give shout outs towards a few particularly well done pieces of fan fiction that I've noticed and enjoyed. First up is Erynnar's fic **Soulmates**, a truly epic post-blight fic that will delight both Swoopers and Zevran fans. I'd also like to mention Arsinoe de Blassenville's alternate reality fic **Victory at Ostagar**, a story in which appropriately enough features Loghain a great deal and examines how the world of Dragon Age may have differed if Loghain hadn't retreated and the battle was won; it's a must read for any Loghain fan or those who enjoy "what if" scenarios. Read them!

Dedication: In honor of names etched into a black wall in Washington D.C. and a field full of white stones just across the river from it, in memory of bronze figures raising a flag high into the sky, in reverence of a patch of ground in Pennsylvania that President Lincoln called "consecrated… far above our poor power to add or detract", and in appreciation for those resting underneath cold granite markers or in soil far from home… this is for you.

_Hero._

_Traitor._

_It's funny, how very close those two words really are, how similar. Both are written in the blood of men, men far better and who sacrificed far more than the ones on whom such titles as "hero" or "traitor" are placed. Both are given to men who were just doing what they had to do, doing as duty bid them to. How strange that the hero of one moment can be the traitor of the next. How curious that one man's traitor is another's hero, and vise versa._

_What makes a hero? Is it to be heroic? If so, how do you define heroism? Is it to sacrifice oneself upon the altar of war, or to survive to fight the next battle? Is it to follow those who lead without question, or is it having the courage to raise your voice and disagree when those seated above you would commit themselves and you stupidly? Which is more heroic? Is it more heroic to charge into the fray, no matter the odds and chances of success, or to turn your back on the field and save what you can once the fight is lost? Just what exactly defines a hero?_

_If we cannot define what makes a hero, what about a traitor? Can we define that? Perhaps; it is certainly a far easier thing to define. A traitor is one who betrays their loyalties; such is simple enough to see. But which betrayed loyalties make one a traitor? Is it treasonous to break the bonds of love for the sake of others, for example? Is one a traitor for betraying their loyalty to their love or for betraying their loyalty to their country's well being? Does sundering a friendship make one a traitor, or is it choosing friendship over duty that shows treachery? Where does the burden of loyalty lie the greatest? Does it lie with one's son- in- law, the child of one's only true friend, one's king, even when that son -in -law, that child, that king would lead everything into ruin for the sake of childish fantasies? Or does it lie with the men and women who follow you, who entrust their lives to you, whom you have been ordered to lead into senseless slaughter without even a chance for victory? What do you do? Sacrifice the man to whom you swore loyalty, or sacrifice those who swore their loyalty to you in a futile attempt to save a man whose foolishness would see them all enslaved? Which of these makes a man the greater traitor?_

_As for me, they're only words, words without meaning. There are other words that are equally without meaning in my eyes._

_Glory._

_There is no such thing as glory, not on the battlefield. Anyone who tells you elsewise is a liar, a fool, or both. What good does glory do a corpse? What good does it do the widows and orphans left weeping in the aftermath? What is glorious about seeing your father spitted on the ends of Orlesian blades? Where is the glory in ravens pecking voraciously at the rotting flesh of the slain and newborn maggots crawling blindly about in the cooling puddles of crimson essence? Does glory come from sleepless nights spent trying to forget the faces of your enemies as your blade drove home, trying to drown out the vision of their eyes growing dull and glassy? Can it be found in the memory of letting loose the rage, of becoming little better than an animal as you tear apart those who shattered your life while your mother's bare and battered body grows cold in the corner? Is there glory in watching men suffer and die under your authority, by your plan and will? Such is the extent of so-called "glory". And yet, so many fools would walk willingly into death's maw for the chance at it; what is so glorious about that sort of insanity? Wouldn't the truest glory be in weeding out all the imbeciles and morons who give themselves over to such foolish thinking? Isn't glory best achieved by assuring the safety and security of one's people, no matter the cost? If the answer is no, then I'll ask again: of what use is "glory"?_

_Honor._

_Honor is trickier by far than glory. There is value in honor, even if it's only to keep a man doing his duty. But when struggling for your very existence, when in the midst of brutal carnage, can honor be said to truly exist then? No, honor has no true place there. There is nothing honorable about sticking a sword through a man's spine as he lays sprawled face- first in the dust of the field, hands reaching out for his weapon. No honor to be found in spitting in an Orlesian knight's eyes in order to decapitate him whilst he stands blind and helpless. Believing in the honor of those who nearly ensnared and killed you in an Orlesian plot is foolhardy, still giving them one's trust after they showed their true colors and proved themselves honorless nothing short of madness. Nor is it an honor to stand with such men, especially when led by a man whose people kept ours under their boot heels for nearly a century. There is nothing to be honored about putting oneself needlessly in harm's way when such can be avoided. No honor in ignoring those with more than thirty years of battlefield experience in pursuit of that other useless, meaningless word, "glory". No honor in standing like a lamb waiting for slaughter. No honor in being broken in half by something thrice your size, in having your corpse thrown aside like a piece of rotten fruit. There is no honor in turning your back on dying men and quitting the battlefield, that much I can admit. But neither is there honor to be found in leading more to die. No honor to be had in leading a nation towards the safety and security it seems desperate to spurn, and certainly no honor to be found in the struggle for supremacy known as politics, which is merely warfare given another name and different rules. As I said, on the battlefield honor has no place._

_Mercy._

_This word is perhaps more useless than any other, and I laugh at its very concept. Where was mercy when my mother was held to the ground screaming, pleading for her attackers to show compassion whilst she was brutalized? No, I learned early on that mercy was a lie, and so I show none unless it is practical to do so._

_So many useless words, words that hold no sway over me and that I spurn as being meaningless. But even after thirty years of nightmares, horror, and stains on my soul there are still some words that I hold in esteem. Some words that are more than just meaningless words and empty promises; there are some words that are worth killing and dying for._

_Duty._

_There is no greater calling than doing one's duty. Mine called to me more than thirty years ago, when I stumbled upon a mere slip of a youth whom I would one day know as my king. Duty and rage led my father and me in avenging my mother's murder. It was duty that led to my father being sacrificed in order that Maric's life be spared. The burden of duty forced me to break my best friend's heart, when I revealed the treachery of the woman he loved, then forced me to break my own, as I gave up my own love for the sake of my king and country. Duty to my friend and king kept me in Denerim, even when it tortured me to see him and Rowan together. Duty led me to try and guide Maric's son into being the sort of successor my friend deserved, a duty I failed at just as I failed at the duties of husband and father. And it was my duty to Ferelden as a whole, not just to its king, that led me to leave Cailan, my poor foolish son- in- law, to die._

_Respect._

_Respect goes a surprisingly long way. It's foolish not to give respect when it's earned and rightfully deserved. I respected my unit of elven archers during the war, the Night Elves, for their mastery of the bow; many an Orlesian commander would rest uneasy for fear of discovering an arrow loosed from elven hands lodged in his throat. I respected and even loved Maric for his many qualities, the sense of the man that drew others to him. I respected my wife for staying faithful and true despite the lack of love in our marriage, and respect my daughter for the cunning and political savvy that she wields like a rogue's dagger. I even respected that treacherous snake, that Grey Warden who grew up in the streets of Orlais, Duncan; I've found it pays to respect your enemies. I respected the Orlesians' strength and might of arms even as I hated them with every fiber of my being, and it's that respect for their ability to wage war that's kept me from relaxing my guard these many years, lest they seize power again. I respect the danger posed by these Darkspawn, even though this is no Blight, merely a ruse by the Wardens to give Orlesian troops an excuse to march upon Ferelden soil once more. Cailan never truly respected their danger, and now he lies dead. I didn't respect Cailan, no matter how hard I tried to; I have never and will never give respect unless it's earned. I've worked too hard to get to my position just to give respect away to a man simply because of the circumstances of his birth. I didn't respect or trust that jackal, Howe, but I did respect his sense of self-preservation enough to trust him to know better than thinking that a jackal could hope to best a lion. He served his purpose, loathsome as it was. I don't respect this bastard prince Eamon wants to place on the throne in Anora's place, as she's earned her position and his only claim is blood. The other Warden, though, the one I met at Ostagar before the battle… If even half of the tales I've heard so far are true, then that one is definitely an opponent to be respected and wary of._

_Sacrifice._

_Nothing comes without a price. Something else must be sacrificed for it. My mother was sacrificed for my father's and my right to resist the Orlesian oppression. My father was sacrificed for the life of our king. Maric had to sacrifice his love for justice and the continued war effort. Rowan and I had to sacrifice ourselves and our love for Maric's sake, for Ferelden's sake. I sacrificed a life with my wife and my daughter's childhood to keep the kingdom running smoothly and well, to keep Maric focused and doing his job. I've sacrificed countless men and women upon an untold number of battlefields to keep my nation free and strong. I sacrificed a part of my soul to give myself the strength to abandon Cailan; I sacrificed Cailan to keep those damnable idiot Wardens from turning Ferelden back over to Orlais. Ferelden is the one thing I've never sacrificed, never been willing to sacrifice. It is far too precious for that, because every inch of its soil has been sacrificed for and been paid for in blood; my parents' blood, my friends' blood, my soldiers' blood, and my king's blood. For Ferelden's sake, no sacrifice is too large._

_I admit to feeling ridiculous, writing down these thoughts onto a piece of parchment. I've never been one for emotional twaddle such as "examining one's feelings" and the like. Perhaps I've finally reached that dreaded peak, that moment when you finally realize that you are old and death isn't reaching out for you but waiting patiently for your arrival; it's only a matter of time, after all. Far more likely is that I'm feeling some anxiety that I won't even truly admit to myself over the Landsmeet tomorrow. Eamon's pet royal bastard is gathering far more support than I…, No. Not the bastard, the Warden. It's always been about the Warden. It's the Warden that stabilized the Tower of Magi, it's the Warden who uncovered my blood mage secreted away in Eamon's household, the Warden who somehow found a cure for the meddlesome arl, the Warden who killed Howe and freed his political prisoners, the Warden who, according to my sources, has managed to infiltrate Denerim's Alienage and uncovered my activities there, and the Warden who managed to spirit Anora away. It's always been down to the two of us, really, me and the Warden, both of us trying to guide Ferelden to the path we see as best, both of us holding this country's fate in our hands. The Warden and I are linked, two sides of the same coin, and in the end one of those sides must prevail over the other._

_Tomorrow, I go to battle once more. Not the battle of flashing swords and sundered armor, as it was on the River Dane so long ago, but a far deadlier battle. A battle fought with tongues and brains rather than blades, a battle of words, wits, and public approval. And just like that battle of so many decades ago, upon this new battle rests the fate of Ferelden. Tomorrow, I face the Warden, my most dangerous and respected foe, an enemy hungry for my blood after I sacrificed their order for Ferelden's sake, an opponent of skill and cunning. All the sacrifices, all the lies, all the schemes, all the deaths, everything rests on tomorrow._

_I will be ready. The Warden will not find me an easy opponent to best, and I will not let them lead Ferelden to ruin, just as I did not allow Cailan to do so. Even if they all turn against me, I will not yield, I will not surrender. I and far too many others have sacrificed far too much for this country's sake to allow for surrender now. No matter what, tomorrow it ends, and we'll see which words still have meaning and which are useless._

_Hero. They call me Hero of the River Dane, and I hear that the Warden is known now as the Savior of Redcliffe, amongst other names._

_Traitor. Some have started to call me the Traitor of Ostagar, just as I tried to portray the Wardens._

_Glory. More often than I'd like, I've been told that I'm a symbol of Ferelden's glory, a fact that makes me cringe and makes me hate such fools all the more for associating me with such a stupid and fleeting thing as glory._

_Honor. If the nobles turn against me tomorrow, my only hope of keeping Maric's bastard off the throne and keeping Ferelden upon the course it's been set on is going to be a duel, meeting the Warden or their champion on the field of so-called honor._

_Mercy. In such as battle as looms before me tomorrow, with such high stakes, I can afford to show no mercy, and I expect the Warden to be equally merciless._

_Duty. Even now, I cannot, will not shy away from my duty, my duty to Ferelden and to all those who have fallen for its sake, to those who paid the ultimate price for duty's sake._

_Respect. Hopefully I still have the respect of the rest of the Landsmeet to garner myself the support I need when I have the final confrontation with the Warden, my respected adversary, tomorrow._

_Sacrifice..._

_I've sacrificed everything for Her, for She is my everything. She fed me, clothed me, and comforted me. She showed me beauty and life even in the midst of darkness and death. She is the only one for whom my feelings have never wavered, never been confused. She has been with me in thought and spirit with every step of my life's journey. She is my mother. She is my protector even as She is mine to protect. She is master of my very soul. She is my truest love. She is Ferelden, and for Her sake I would do anything, sacrifice everything I am, time and again, all for Her._

_Soon, tomorrow will come, and we'll see whose blood labels whom as hero and whom as traitor._

_Loghain Mac Tir. Teyrn of Gwaren, Regent of Ferelden._

**The End**

Author's Notes 2: Wow that wound up less of a Memorial Day tribute and more of a character study into Loghain. Nonetheless I hope it served both to entertain those who read it and to honor those who have sacrificed all for our sakes. God bless.


End file.
